


Flat; calm

by unbelievable2



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 01:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13916373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbelievable2/pseuds/unbelievable2
Summary: After The Fountain, Blair has his own ways of processing.





	Flat; calm

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a standalone piece for the TS concrit exercise: "emphasising description"  
> This may read rather dark, at first sight, but there is another interpretation...

Flat calm; only light waves hit the shore, rolling up the dull sand. The sea, a drab, military mud-green, ruffled impatiently around the shoreline rocks, with here and there a little splash and a spurt of froth. The rocks themselves, out along the point, looked black and slick, as black as the cliffs above, where equally dark pines dotted their tops. Not menacing, thought Blair, as he walked down to the water's edge, just… expectant, waiting for something. Like the sea, plucking at the boulders lying along the beach, swirling and pulling, then retreating briefly only to make a further teasing surge. This time, it touched the toe of his boots before it withdrew. 

_Just a taste_ , it said. _Come further,_ it said, _see what I'm really like, feel what I'm really like. Taste me, too._

No one needed to be a Superman to sense things. He nodded to himself briefly, acknowledging this truth; Blair could feel, see, taste… so what was the big deal? A new wave flirted with him, and he kicked off his boots, carelessly leaving them lying open-mouthed on the sand; the next little wave surged into them, excited to find new playthings. That same wave plucked at Blair's bare feet as they sank gently into the gritty sand. It didn’t feel cold, exactly; it felt fresh, clean, energetic. The water swirled around his ankles, and then drew back again; he could feel it sucking the sand away from between his toes and under his heels. It was undermining him, just as it tried on every tide to undermine the black rocks embedded in the beach. He was no rock; the sea wouldn’t have to work so hard with him.

He took another step forward, following the wave's retreat. He saw grains of sand and small pebbles rolling back with the water. Another little surge, another invitation to go farther. At each step the sand rasped his skin, sliding between his toes, and the sea - petting and playful, cold and clean - swept it away again.

Is this how Jim sensed things? Would he feel this hypnotic tug towards the deep ocean, the grains of sand tickling and clinging like iron filings around a magnet? Or would he lose himself at a deeper level, purely sensing how those same minute grains interlocked, tumbled apart and interlocked again? Lost in the detail, that was Jim. 

The big picture was Blair's purview, and you couldn't get much bigger than the Pacific. _This_ was how you did total immersion. Not in a puddle of algae and chlorine and old cigarette butts. You needed the pines, and the black rocks, and the restless play of the waves, the tang of salt in the air a promise of the heavy salinity of that ocean and its unique deep-green taste.

He was up to his knees now, but already there was someone behind him, calling his name; water splashing. _Not this time, then._ He sighed, and waited to be recovered.


End file.
